But she couldn't quite figure out his angle. Jameson didn't care about her, that much was clear. If he did, he wouldn't be offering her some silly game – he'd be offering his heart. Was he really so obsessed with sleeping with her that he needed to drag her all the way to Spain? Play more games with her? She would only ever be just a game to him. Maybe that had been fine before, but it wasn't fine now. She wanted more for herself, and she certainly wasn't going to get it from him.
Jameson could play all the stupid games he wanted, Tate wasn't about to fall for them again. She was not going to make the next thirty days easy for him. They would go around in circles for the next month, then it would be goodbye, forever. And hey, if he happened to grow a heart in the process and lose it to her, why, that would just be gravy on top. But either way, he would not be winning this time around.
Easy as pie.
~4~
After making her deal with the devil, Tate went to her room to change. If she was going to be busting balls, she couldn't be doing it wearing Ellie's style of clothing. For god's sake, she was wearing khaki. Barf. Tate felt like she was really waking up, for the first time since the hospital.
And the first thing she wanted was a really tight pair of pants.
They hadn't spoken much after they'd woken up, but Sanders hadn't seemed bothered by their little slumber party, so she convinced him to go shopping with her. They were treated exceedingly well in all the stores they went to – Sanders' expensive, tailored-to-fit suit, and Jameson's black American Express card, ensured prompt service.
In the old days, she had spent Jameson's money sparingly. Tate didn't mind being taken care of, but she also wasn't a complete whore. She never bought herself clothing or jewelry or gifts, or anything else of that nature. But those days were gone. She felt like Jameson owed her, and until she could take it out of him in skin, she would burn his money.
She bought everything. Anything Tate saw that she even remotely liked, she bought. Every store had a stack of purchases, promising to have them delivered by the end of the business day. She even bought Sanders clothing, though it was very much against his will.
“C'mon, Sandy, admit it, you're having fun,” Tate teased as they were leaving a restaurant. Sanders had begged for lunch after the first four hours of shopping.
“Yes, it is kind of fun. It reminds me of how we used to be,” he replied. She looped her arm through his and leaned against him.
“How do you mean?”
“In Boston. When we would wait for Jameson to get off work,” he reminded her. Tate frowned.
“This isn't like that. You know that, right?” she asked. He shrugged.
“We're all together again. That's all that matters to me,” Sanders replied.
“I wish more people were like you, Sandy.”
“Me, too.”
They went shoe shopping for a while after that – Tate hadn't brought one single pair of heels with her, thinking she would be on vacation with just Sanders. Now that wouldn't do. Jameson was a tall man, around six-foot-two, and broad shouldered. Big. Much bigger than her. She could wear skyscrapers on her feet around him and still feel like a petite pixie. Heels weren't necessary to make an outfit sexy, but she didn't think they hurt, and she knew he loved her in heels. Loved her ass, her legs.
I want him gagging for it.
She only bought designer. Red bottoms, big labels, towering heels, double-platforms. The bills were enormous, more money than she had ever spent in her entire life. She loved it. She found herself regretting not taking advantage of it all when she had been living with him.
They stopped for coffee before heading home, and Tate finally bit the bullet and made some phone calls. Though she still hadn't been able to really pin him down before she left, she and Ang were in a much better position friend-wise. It was the reason why she hadn't called him the day before; she knew Ang was going to be pissed when he found out what had happened.
Turned out, pissed wasn't a strong enough word. Atomic was almost better. Ang freaked the fuck out. Was threatening to sell a kidney to fly over there and get her. When people at neighboring tables began to tune in to the screaming coming out of Tate's phone, Sanders took it away and put it to his own ear. She wasn't sure how he did it, but Sanders had the ability to calm just about anyone down. Maybe it was his tranquil nature. She wasn't sure. Ang had been all kinds of mad, but after five minutes of talking, he was calm and willing to let her stay there in peace. For now.
Nick wasn't a happy camper, either, but he wasn't like Ang. He never tried to tell her what to do. He just wanted her to be happy, and careful. He told her his home would always be open to her. Tate wouldn't be back in Boston till the end of January, and by then he would be settling in to his house in Arizona, gearing up for spring training.
She didn't tell either of the boys about the little bet she had going with Jameson.
When they headed home, it was a little after six. Jameson had told them dinner would be at seven, but he probably hadn't been expecting them to stay gone all day. She thought it was awesome. One day down, only twenty-nine left to go. Tate would win this game like she had invented it.
“Uh uh. No way. Nooooo way,” Jameson was shouting at them as they made their way onto his boat.
“What?” Tate asked innocently, ignoring all the bags and boxes that were strewn across the deck.
“Have you seen these fucking bills? I like expensive shit, Tate, but goddamn, did you buy everything in the entire fucking town?” Jameson snapped. She suppressed the urge to shudder – she hadn't heard that tone of voice in a long time.
Jameson could play all the stupid games he wanted, Tate wasn't about to fall for them again. She was not going to make the next thirty days easy for him. They would go around in circles for the next month, then it would be goodbye, forever. And hey, if he happened to grow a heart in the process and lose it to her, why, that would just be gravy on top. But either way, he would not be winning this time around.
Easy as pie.
~4~
After making her deal with the devil, Tate went to her room to change. If she was going to be busting balls, she couldn't be doing it wearing Ellie's style of clothing. For god's sake, she was wearing khaki. Barf. Tate felt like she was really waking up, for the first time since the hospital.
And the first thing she wanted was a really tight pair of pants.
They hadn't spoken much after they'd woken up, but Sanders hadn't seemed bothered by their little slumber party, so she convinced him to go shopping with her. They were treated exceedingly well in all the stores they went to – Sanders' expensive, tailored-to-fit suit, and Jameson's black American Express card, ensured prompt service.
In the old days, she had spent Jameson's money sparingly. Tate didn't mind being taken care of, but she also wasn't a complete whore. She never bought herself clothing or jewelry or gifts, or anything else of that nature. But those days were gone. She felt like Jameson owed her, and until she could take it out of him in skin, she would burn his money.
She bought everything. Anything Tate saw that she even remotely liked, she bought. Every store had a stack of purchases, promising to have them delivered by the end of the business day. She even bought Sanders clothing, though it was very much against his will.
“C'mon, Sandy, admit it, you're having fun,” Tate teased as they were leaving a restaurant. Sanders had begged for lunch after the first four hours of shopping.
“Yes, it is kind of fun. It reminds me of how we used to be,” he replied. She looped her arm through his and leaned against him.
“How do you mean?”
“In Boston. When we would wait for Jameson to get off work,” he reminded her. Tate frowned.
“This isn't like that. You know that, right?” she asked. He shrugged.
“We're all together again. That's all that matters to me,” Sanders replied.
“I wish more people were like you, Sandy.”
“Me, too.”
They went shoe shopping for a while after that – Tate hadn't brought one single pair of heels with her, thinking she would be on vacation with just Sanders. Now that wouldn't do. Jameson was a tall man, around six-foot-two, and broad shouldered. Big. Much bigger than her. She could wear skyscrapers on her feet around him and still feel like a petite pixie. Heels weren't necessary to make an outfit sexy, but she didn't think they hurt, and she knew he loved her in heels. Loved her ass, her legs.
I want him gagging for it.
She only bought designer. Red bottoms, big labels, towering heels, double-platforms. The bills were enormous, more money than she had ever spent in her entire life. She loved it. She found herself regretting not taking advantage of it all when she had been living with him.
They stopped for coffee before heading home, and Tate finally bit the bullet and made some phone calls. Though she still hadn't been able to really pin him down before she left, she and Ang were in a much better position friend-wise. It was the reason why she hadn't called him the day before; she knew Ang was going to be pissed when he found out what had happened.
Turned out, pissed wasn't a strong enough word. Atomic was almost better. Ang freaked the fuck out. Was threatening to sell a kidney to fly over there and get her. When people at neighboring tables began to tune in to the screaming coming out of Tate's phone, Sanders took it away and put it to his own ear. She wasn't sure how he did it, but Sanders had the ability to calm just about anyone down. Maybe it was his tranquil nature. She wasn't sure. Ang had been all kinds of mad, but after five minutes of talking, he was calm and willing to let her stay there in peace. For now.
Nick wasn't a happy camper, either, but he wasn't like Ang. He never tried to tell her what to do. He just wanted her to be happy, and careful. He told her his home would always be open to her. Tate wouldn't be back in Boston till the end of January, and by then he would be settling in to his house in Arizona, gearing up for spring training.
She didn't tell either of the boys about the little bet she had going with Jameson.
When they headed home, it was a little after six. Jameson had told them dinner would be at seven, but he probably hadn't been expecting them to stay gone all day. She thought it was awesome. One day down, only twenty-nine left to go. Tate would win this game like she had invented it.
“Uh uh. No way. Nooooo way,” Jameson was shouting at them as they made their way onto his boat.
“What?” Tate asked innocently, ignoring all the bags and boxes that were strewn across the deck.
“Have you seen these fucking bills? I like expensive shit, Tate, but goddamn, did you buy everything in the entire fucking town?” Jameson snapped. She suppressed the urge to shudder – she hadn't heard that tone of voice in a long time.
